


The Place Where Fire And Water Meet

by wackyjacqs



Series: Bizarre Holidays [43]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe, Episode: s06e19 The Changeling, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 14:46:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17747864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wackyjacqs/pseuds/wackyjacqs
Summary: Samantha Carter has never been one to fall for a man in uniform, but she’d be lying if she said she hasn’t noticed how nicely the Chief wears his.





	The Place Where Fire And Water Meet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ‘White Shirt Day’ (11 February). Set in The Changeling universe.

Samantha Carter has never been one to fall for a man in uniform, but she’d be lying if she said she hasn’t noticed how nicely the Chief wears his.

She doesn’t remember when, exactly, she notices just how good he looks, but in years to come, she’ll happily wager that it was the first time they met.

Even if they don’t get off to the best start.

It’s the way he makes a comment about her background in engineering, but it sounds dismissive and it pisses her off. So, naturally, she fires back a little speech about reproductive organs. She smiles to herself when the retort silences him for a few seconds before he grins at her, but Sam doesn’t want to let the issue drop. She wants more. She wants to push him to see what really makes him tick. It’s an urge she can’t explain, nor is she sure she wants to.

In the end, she challenges him to an arm wrestle and he confidently accepts.

She tries not to focus on the way the muscles in his arm flex and bulge underneath his white shirt.

* * *

The first time Sam starts to feel something that possibly, almost definitely, is not just a crush on her superior officer, comes during their second year together in the job.

The crew are called out to a house fire and while they manage to get everyone out safely, protocol dictates that Sam is the last to leave, but as she makes her way out of the building, part of the roof collapses and traps her inside. It’s the last thing she remembers, before she wakes up to the unwelcomely familiar smell of antiseptic and slowly opens her eyes to confirm that she’s in the hospital. She feels hot and sticky and uncomfortable, and her brain feels a little fuzzy. The sensation brings a wave of nausea and she frantically glances around for a call button, when she hears his voice.

“Welcome back, sleepyhead.”

She cranes her neck and freezes at the sight. The chief is lying on the bed opposite hers, his legs stretched out towards her and crossed at the ankles. He’s on his side, his elbow and hip taking his weight and there’s a smile playing about his lips, but Sam blinks hard and she swears the look is at odds with how dark his eyes appear. Her gaze roams over his hair, his tanned skin, the white shirt that has pulled and twisted from his position on the bed, the way his fingers tease the corner of the magazine he was pretending to read –

“How are you feeling?”

“Good,” she manages to croak, but his expression tells her that he believes her answer as much as she does.

Sam swallows hard and averts her gaze.

“Get some rest, captain.”

T drops by later to see her and accidentally lets slip that the chief broke cover to pull her from the burning wreckage. The revelation ignites a fire in her chest that has nothing to do with the one she’s just faced.

* * *

It’s in their third year of working together when Sam gets a better glimpse into the man that lurks underneath the hardened exterior.

“Captain? There’s a call for you in the Chief’s office. He says it’s urgent.”

Sam frowns at the Probie’s relayed message and turns in her seat to glance at the upper level of the station. She sees the chief looking down at her from the doorway of his office. His eyes are dark and whilst she thinks he’s trying to go for unreadable, she sees the tinge of sadness in his expression.

“On your feet, Carter. Let’s go,” he orders softly before he disappears back into his office and her stomach plummets.

It turns out her father’s cancer has advanced to a level none of them are expecting and she’s still in a daze when she hangs up the phone, but the chief offers to drive her to the hospital. When she remains sitting, he gently wraps a hand around her arm and pulls her to her feet.

“Sam.”

She looks at him and sees concern and another unidentified emotion flare in his eyes.

“I’ll meet you out front in five,” he promises.

He stays with her for the rest of the afternoon, and then all through the night and into the early morning, helping take turns to keep vigil over her father.

She is waiting outside her father’s hospital room when the chief finds her for the final time that morning and lowers himself gently into the empty chair beside her.

His shoulder and upper arm presses against hers as he mirrors her position, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped tightly together. In a way Sam doesn’t fully understand, the action brings her comfort, and a fresh round of tears bubbling to the surface. But for the first time since she’s received the news about her father’s condition, she feels safe. Like she’s not about to fall apart at the realization that she is minutes away from losing her dad.

The man sitting to her right is her rock; grounding her and anchoring her back to the present. She thinks it should grate on her nerves, but it doesn’t. She thinks it should make her want to face this alone and not have to rely on anybody else, to have them see her weak and upset, but it doesn’t. Instead, she finds herself wanting him to be the only one near her in her father’s final moments.

“You OK?”

His voice is gentle and caring and she nods as she tries to hold back the tears.

“Actually, I’m fine. Good, even. Strange as that sounds,” she shrugs. “I thought I lost him three years ago – it’s why I applied for a transfer here – to be closer to him,” she explains, her voice thick with emotion. “We’ve been closer than we ever were my whole life. In a way, this job gave me the father I never thought I’d know.”

Her gaze flickers to the chief and he’s watching her with an intensity she isn’t prepared for.

“C’mere.”

He puts his arm around her, her own hand reaching up to grab his and Sam takes a deep breath, inhaling his scent.

“Thank you, Chief.”

“For what?” He asks, his voice rumbling deep in his chest as he shifts closer.

“For being here for me.”

“Always,” he whispers.

She turns her head to look up at him and an array of questions flood her mind as he stares at her, but before she gives voice to any of them, the door to her father’s room opens and a nurse appears.

“Miss Carter?”

The chief squeezes her hand as she goes to say goodbye to her father.

An hour later, when the chief offers to drive her home, she accepts, but she quickly discovers she doesn’t want to be alone. So, she tries to sneak into the station, wanting the familiar company of her friends – her team – nearby, even if she does decide to hide away in the far corner of the locker room.

It takes him just twenty minutes to track her down, but then he surprises her. He doesn’t reprimand her, or order her to leave. He simply pushes himself away from one of the lockers where he’s been observing her in the shadows, and crosses to where she’s sitting on the floor. Silently, he folds himself into the small space to her left, and just like he had hours earlier, slings an arm over her shoulders and pulls her close.

“C’mere.”

She finally feels safe enough to let her tears fall.

When she pulls herself together over an hour later, he glances at the make-up stains she’s left on his pristine white shirt. She goes to apologize, but hesitates when she catches the inscrutable look on his face.

Later, he changes out of the shirt, but instead of throwing it away, he keeps it stored in the bottom of his locker.

* * *

Sam’s fourth year as part of Chief O’Neill’s team doesn’t start quietly. During the last two weeks of July, the crew has a run of tough call outs – both in terms of the rescues and the number of fatalities they seem to be coming across.

They all really need to blow off some steam, which isn’t easy to do when they’re still on duty, so someone – Sam reckons it’s T – decides a few practical jokes are in order. It’s nothing harmful; just ridiculous things like duct taping an air horn to the underside of somebody’s chair, or the classic ‘stapler in the Jell-O’ stunt, but then someone – Sam reckons it’s Probie – accidentally targets the chief.

The crew are out in the station yard enjoying the sunshine when T throws a cup of water at Probie. So, he retaliates – and it doesn’t take long for the rest of the team to get involved. But then the chief steps out into the yard, just as Probie lets go of a bucket full of water.

Sam only sees him when he turns and stops at the door of the station. His perfect silhouette contrasts with the bright afternoon sun and it takes her a few seconds to realize that the chief is soaked to the skin and his white shirt is clinging oh-so-nicely to every muscle in his upper body, while his hair is sticking out at odd angles, as if he’s ran his hand through it several times already.

The water streams down his clothes – and body – before it ends in a pool around his feet. And as Sam’s lips part slightly, she finds she can’t look away. Worse, the chief doesn’t make any effort to either. She isn’t quite sure how long they stare at each other; their only interruption the sound of water pattering onto the ground.

* * *

As Sam makes her way along the deserted hospital corridor, she realizes this is the first time in five years that the roles have been reversed. It’s the Chief who occupies one of the beds, while it’s her turn to be the concerned... colleague.

 _Colleague,_ she tells herself firmly.

She lightly knocks on the door, but there’s no answer, so she peeks inside the room to find him sleeping. A part of her knows she should leave and let him rest, but she needs to see once more that he is alive.

She was by his side when he’d covered his white shirt with the well-worn fire jacket and quickly geared up and made his way into inferno, insisting that he go into the building first, rather than her.

 _As long as you’re under my command, you’re my responsibility,_ he’d said, when she’d been about to protest.

Seconds later, she was forced to watch helpless as an explosion to their right sent the Chief flying into the air. He didn’t move, and Sam was terrified that he’d been too close to the blast.

“I’m fine, Captain.”

His groggy voice breaks through her reminiscing and she jumps, her cheeks reddening, so she’s thankful that he’s still got his eyes closed.

“When you were lying there,” she chokes out suddenly. “I just wanted to say... I’m really glad you’re okay.”

A tear escapes her and when the chief holds out a hand, she’s by his side in two steps. She squeezes tightly and lets her head fall to his shoulder as relief floods her.

“You’re okay, Jack,” she repeats, her voice barely above a whisper, but she feels his hand squeeze hers in response.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

He doesn’t move, but Sam turns slightly and lets her lips press gently against his neck.

Later, she wakes up to find someone’s pulled her up a chair and her head is resting on the bed, their hands still firmly clasped together.

* * *

Six years.

They’ve played with fire for six years, and Sam isn’t sure she’s ready for the burn.

She’s at home, just about to settle down with her first beer of the evening when there’s a sharp rap at the door and she opens it to find the chief standing there, still in his uniform.

The anger he’s been feeling all day, ever since she disobeyed his orders at a crash site, is still plain to see in his eyes. She bites back a sigh and silently stands aside to let him in. He follows her into the living room and she sits down on the couch, while he remains standing, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“I just want you to tell me one thing.”

She straightens and waits.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

She resists a sarcastic retort but by the time she thinks of a more acceptable answer, the chief is pacing up and down her living room, his voice rapidly rising as he gesticulates widely with his hands.

“I ordered you out of there.”

“You saw that little girl, Chief. She regained consciousness just as you gave the call. I was _not_ going to leave her.”

“That was not your decision to make.”

“The hell it was,” she shouts. “ _I_ was the one by the car when she woke up. _I_ was the one she cried out to for help.”

“We could have made the area safe before you got her out of the car. It’s protocol.”

“It would have been too late,” she says, getting to her feet and moving towards him. “She’s alive because I did my job.”

His voice rises. “You had _one_ job, Captain. That was it – and it didn’t involve you playing the hero without any backup.”

“Is that what you really think?”

“You could have been killed, Sam!”

And then, in the deafening silence, it hits her. Why he is acting the way he is. His anger is borne out of fear. It wasn’t because she disobeyed his order, it was because she did exactly what he would have in the same situation and he's realized how close he'd come to almost losing her, but been helpless to stop it.

She’s frozen to the spot as she watches him take one, two steps closer, his face now just inches from hers.

“Don’t ever do it again,” he murmurs, right before his lips press against hers.

She responds immediately and when his tongue darts out and teases her lips, she gasps. It’s all he needs to deepen the kiss and before Sam can stop herself, she’s clinging onto him, the fingers of one hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck while the other hand falls to his chest. When the chief pushes her against the wall hard and pins her there with his hips, a low moan escapes and her hands quickly move to his shirt to start undoing the buttons. She’s vaguely aware of the notion that they shouldn’t be doing this, but all she really wants is him. A whimper leaves her as he tears his lips from hers to find her neck, so she refocuses and pushes his shirt aside and let her fingers trail lightly down his chest, her nails scratching lightly at his skin. She grins as his muscles twitch under her touch and he tries to free his arms of his shirt but Sam grabs a hold of the material, bunches it between her fingers and shakes her head.

“No,” she pants.

“No?” He repeats, raising a brow in surprise, but there’s a smirk shaping his lips.

“No,” she confirms. “The shirt stays on.”

Later that night, she wakes up to find his arm draped over her waist, right before he pulls her closer and presses a kiss to her temple.

**Author's Note:**

> This is not the story I had planned for this holiday at all, but a happy, cheery story just wouldn’t come after I heard the news of Carmen Argenziano’s passing. This fic entry is especially for agrainne24. I’m sorry it’s not quite the idea we discussed, but I hope it’s still okay. Xx


End file.
